


Warmth

by dorkilysoulless (custodian), Mycolour



Series: Art! Writing! Madness! [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycolour/pseuds/Mycolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strip of light across his left eye is what inevitably wakes Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Art/fic collaboration continues. Art prompt by itfeltpure, story by mycolour.

 

 

A strip of light across his left eye is what wakes Dean.

 

He tries swatting at it and ends up poking himself in the eye. It’s not the most glorious way to wake up, but it gets the job done.  He takes a few minutes to assess the danger level of his surroundings with his eyes closed.  The motel room is still and peaceful except for the faint breeze of the air conditioner. It’s even quiet outside.

 

After a quick check to see whether his gun is still under the pillow, Dean opens his eyes. He spots a rip in the curtains, the source of the faint light that woke him. He’s thankful it’s the street lamp outside and not the blinding morning light.  Still groggy, he slowly makes his way over to the bathroom.

 

After finishing up his business, he steps back into the room and notices a lump in his bed, breathing and facing the wall. Dean sighs and slumps against the doorway. It’s not really that he forgot that about Cas. It’s just that sharing a bed has become such a regular experience, his brain didn’t even mark it as unusual. Even so, it’s still too recent of a development for him to let it go easily.

 

If he closes his eyes and lets himself remember, the memories of last night will flood back in.  Bodies undulating against each other. The sour smell of sweat. The bitter taste of cum.  Loud moans intermittent with the sound of bed frames hitting the wall. But he’s not letting himself remember. Whatever happens between them in the dead of night doesn’t get to be real in the morning. He won’t do that to himself or to Cas, whose soft snores punctuate the darkness.

 

Dean picks up his pants from the chair where they were half haphazardly thrown during a fervent blowjob on the floor and puts them on.  Satisfied he’s got everything, he slips silently out the door. It’s still pitch black out. Too early for the sun to come out, too late for people to be out.

 

It’s not the first time that he’s left Cas alone in the bed, naked and crusty, at an ungodly hour of the night.  It’s better if he leaves to drive around until life resumes its normal shape.  Dean goes out, Cas wakes up, and when they eventually meet again during the day they can resume their lives without acknowledging the night before.  They can go on as normal until the itch consumes them once more and they need to close themselves off from the world.

 

Their escapades are cocoons. They’re not real. If they were real, Dean wouldn’t be able to let go. Dean would condemn Cas and tether him to the shithole that is Dean’s life. They’re just fragments from moments of what could be if things were different.  Which they aren’t.

 

No one talks about it. No one needs to talk about it.

 

But the memories won’t let go, even as he walks across the lot to the Impala.  They’re warm, a contrast to the cold night. They push him towards unwanted thoughts as he opens the car door.  He tries to distance himself from them before he gets into the car in a vain attempt to bring his thoughts into order.

 

He’s not sure what he’s aiming to do. All he’s yearning for is some peace and quiet where constant questioning, his uncertainty of the future, and the heavy burden of the past won’t bother him.

 

He gets into the car and shivers.  He rubs his bare arms and regrets the choice to step out in a t-shirt.  He takes a few deep breaths in a futile effort to calm himself. He can’t quite grasp why he’s on edge. He tells himself that it might not even have anything to do with Cas. It might just be his own insecurities making themselves known. Dean stops that train of thought in its tracks. It’s all beginning to feel too much like self-evaluation. He doesn’t need that. He just needs warmth right now.

 

Dean stares at the motel room window, where the green curtains are drawn.  It’s cold here.  He wants to go inside. Inside is warm. Inside feels like home. Maybe it’s the familiarity of a motel room that makes him want to go inside.  Or maybe it’s the warm body burrowed under the blanket.  That could have something to do with it.

 

It’s not a sudden epiphany of ardent love that propels him. It’s more a sudden realization that maybe he doesn’t belong in this freezing-ass car right now.  Maybe he belongs in the welcoming warmth under the blankets.  He reassures himself that it’s the warmth that calls to him.

 

Just the warmth.  Nothing else.

 

He pauses before opening the door to room 18. This is the first time he’s ever come back immediately after leaving Cas alone in bed. He doesn’t know what Cas does after he goes away. Does he wake up? Will he have to face a confused and shocked Cas and explain that he doesn’t feel like going away anymore?

 

Dean dismisses the thought.  He’s ready for whatever confrontation he might be walking into.  He tells himself that it’s a kind of maturity, but doesn’t deny the fact maybe he’s just tired and yearning to get away from the cold.

 

Cas is still a lump under the covers. The wheezing of the air conditioner unit drones in the background, and the air stinks of sex and sweat. Dean doesn’t think about anything.  He just divests himself of his clothing and quietly lies down on top of the covers. Sleep takes him quickly enough that he drifts off wondering what would happen if he just rolled over and rested his head on Cas’ back.

 

He wakes up to a warmer light on his face. It’s exceptionally more uncomfortable than the street lamp, but he feels weirdly more at ease. Everything is snug and warm. The soft touch of fingers drawing lazy circles in his hair nearly lulls him back to sleep, but it’s the steady heartbeat under his palm that puzzles him enough to stay awake.

 

He knows it’s Cas.  What he’s not sure of is when exactly his concerns over being overly clingy and dragging Cas down with him got swept away to make room for this moment. He scrunches his eyes. Maybe it’s the comfort here in Cas’ arms, or maybe his sleep addled brain has ejected his reticence out of the window and let him accept that this is what he wants.

 

Now that the thought is out there, Dean realizes how simple everything is. How silly and utterly useless pretending to be aloof seems here in a warm bed with Cas. He wonders if Cas knows he’s awake. Or if Cas would be up for another roll in the sheets. Or maybe some breakfast down at the diner at the end of the street.

 

Above all else, he wonders if Cas gets scared about this sometimes too.

 

Dean loses himself in the possibilities.  He’s got no idea what he’s doing, but he realizes that he might actually not have to do it alone.  He’s still thinking about it when the hand in his hair slowly slips down and stills.  Cas’ breath is deep and slow.  A smile forms on Dean’s lips as he hugs Cas closer to his body, enjoying the heat that seeps into his bones.  

 

Dean closes his eyes and drifts back into sleep.  

 

 


End file.
